Draco Malfoy and a Christmas Carol
by Valiant Toaster
Summary: Y'all know what happens. Featuring Malfoy and the ghosts (kinda). Twoshot (Second part pending). MERRY CHRISTMAS!


**This has been done. And done. And done. So let's do it again! It is Christmas after all.**

 **Based on those gazillion Christmas Carols (shouldn't that make this a crossover? Meh.)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own any of this but you can't sue me! It's Christmas!**

Draco Malfoy and a Christmas Carol Part One

The lake glittered like a thousand stars in the light of the moonlight and the actual stars ghosted across the sky like silver mist. Hogwarts was filled with shiny baubles and a trillion candles and a third year student had been practising the Duplicating Charm, so the floor was flooded with silver tinsel that everybody had to wade across to get anywhere.

The students that had chosen to stay behind were laughing and singing and acting as if they were five years old again and the teachers all turned a blind eyes to their shenanigans, especially when all the seventh and sixth year students snuck out to Hogsmeade late at night and were late for lunch the next morning. Professor McGonagall even only looked slightly amused, which was kind of scary when you thought about it.

All in all, Hogwarts was an amazing place to spend Christmas. There were snowball fights, midnight feasts and a whole lot of fun to be had. Everyone in the castle was enjoying themselves. Everyone that is, except for one Draco Malfoy.

It wasn't like Draco didn't like Christmas. He really truly did. He used to have a great time with his parents and their friends and his friends and their friends and family and _their_ friends at the Winter Solstice Ball, and then a quiet gathering of a couple people on Christmas Day, when he would usually get the newest broomstick.

And it wasn't like he was alone either. Greg and Pansy were with him, and for that he was eternally grateful.

It was just Draco's heart was not only two sizes too small but shrunken and shrivelled like it had been in the washing too long. Hermione would say it was amazing that his heart managed to pump his blood anywhere, and Ron would retort that it was amazing that Draco had a heart at all. Draco just couldn't find it in him to enjoy Christmas while there were _Mudbloods_ aroundhaving just a good a time as he was, not to mention Potter's lot.

So Draco lay there, the night before Christmas, and the hallways of Hogwarts were as silent as they had ever been. The watery, silvery moonlight came in through the windows and cut through the patterns of the green wallpaper like a knife. He was awake and he knew not why he was awake. All he knew was that _something_ , some ambiguous sound, had woken him.

It came again, a hissing, spitting sound of a snake as if it were in the room with him and Draco sprung to his feet, looking around for the source of it, straining his ears painfully. There was no continuation and after a couple of seconds Draco had managed to convince himself he had heard nothing. He lay back into his bed gratefully.

Something hissed again and it was coming from under his bed.

Draco stilled, convinced that the slightest movement would set off the snake and he would be bitten, reduced to nothing more than an empty shell as he died in the middle of the night. At the same time, he was seized by the most awful curiosity, the dreadful need to see, whatever it was, that was going to kill him.

Unwillingly, he slipped out of his bed and crouched down to peer at whatever was down there.

It was a book, and Draco huffed a sigh of relief. He reached out and grabbed it, quickly flicking through the pages. He was disappointed how it was empty, the blank pages telling him nothing, not doing a thing to reveal their secrets. It merely appeared to be a diary.

Memory stirred within him and he stared at the diary in his hands with a mixture of horror and awe. He knew this diary.

"It's Tom Riddle's diary," he whispered, amazed.

"Indeed it is," hissed a voice next to him. Draco squeaked and turned his head so fast his hair gave him whiplash.

Leaning casually against the bedpost, with a basilisk fang sticking halfway through his chest, and with gleaming red eyes like the blood he was dripping on the floor, was Tom Riddle.

Draco screamed like a little girl and threw himself backwards, tumbling across the floor. The memory of _Voldemort himself_ merely chuckled while Draco's brain screamed; _Oh god what is this? What is happening? Why is Voldemort in my bedroom!?_

Tom Riddle shook his head in amusement. It was the sixteen year old version, with dark hair and pale skin. He reminded Draco of Potter, not that he was going to mention that to the Dark Lord.

"I cannot hurt you, silly boy. I am merely a memory, a fragment of my former self. I come to you bearing a warning."

"A w-warning? What?"

Tom Riddle leaned in, "Three of them will come, for there are, of course, three. Their words will haunt you, drive you to madness. Heed their words, for I did not and paid a terrible price."

He straightened again and hissed. The diary convulsed and melted into a snake, which curled up his arm.

Draco found his mouth again, "But how… how are you still here? I thought that Potter destroyed you?"

Tom Riddle threw back his head and laughed. It was not a nice laugh.

"Perhaps. But not tonight. Oh no, not tonight, of all nights. This night I suffer."

His shadow rose up behind him and he was swallowed. Tom Riddle had disappeared.

* * *

Draco scanned the room, making sure that the Dark Lord had indeed left, and sighed a breath of relief when Draco realised he had. He pushed himself up to his feet and surveyed the room and realised that blood still stained the floor. It would be cool if had been shaped like the Dark Mark or something but no, it was just a puddle of blood. How crude.

And there was that _they_ , the mysterious _they_ , of which there was three. Who were _they_?

" _We are the voices that seep into your head_ ," whispered a voice behind him and Draco turned, part of him wishing that people would _just stop_ creeping up behind him. The other part was screaming in absolute terror.

There was a woman standing there, with sleeky, shiny black hair and a white mask. She moved slightly and Draco realised that he could see the wall behind her. She was a ghost and he relaxed slightly. He doubted if a ghost was going to be as bad as Voldemort.

The woman raised her arm and tendrils of fog crept into the room, coalescing into another ghost, that of a man with soulless black eyes, which it turned immediately to Draco.

" _We are the monster hiding under your bed_ ," the male ghost whispered. Draco took it back. He'd much rather Voldemort.

A third figure moved, a thin scruffy man with blood slowly dripping from his eyes, mouth and ears.

" _We are the cold that slips in through the cracks_ ," the scruffy man said, and Draco noticed that he too, was a ghost.

The three moved together and spoke in unison; " _And we don't care about wards or doors or any of that_."

The fog filled the room, obscuring the walls, the furniture, the light. It snaked unnaturally around him, curling up at his feet like a cat, spiralling in a smoke trail to the ceiling. The visages of the ghosts blurred; their voices echoing unnaturally in the space.

" _We are the dark that scares away light_ ," the bleeding ghost said. Draco could tell, because it sounded as if he were drowning.

"Oh Merlin," whispered Draco, "Oh. Fucking. Merlin."

" _We are the wind that howls in the night_ ," the woman said. He could hear her footsteps coming towards him, _all_ their footsteps coming towards him.

" _We are the breath on the small of your back_ ," said the last ghost, it's face appearing in front of him. Draco screeched and punted himself backwards, flailing. He could see the details of the ghost now, it's skin pockmarked with millions of little pinpricks, like he had been stabbed with a needle unto death.

It was horrible.

" _And each of us has something you lack_."

"What is it?" croaked Draco, "What do you want? Why are you here?

The fog obscured his vision once more and all he could see were little pinpricks of light.

" _We have the sun and the stars and the sky_ ,"

The light grew brighter, bigger and golden, and the silhouettes, the flickering silhouettes of the ghosts, grew darker and sharper, their features more pronounced.

" _And all of the seconds that pass by and by_ ,"

Draco couldn't even tell which was speaking anymore; their voices blended together. It sounded unearthly.

" _And all the seconds pass before and behind_ ,"

And what were they babbling about anyway? It made no sense to Draco. None of this made any sense. All he wanted was a good night's sleep, and all he got were creepy rhyming ghosts and the Dark Lord.

 _Merry Christmas Draco_ , he thought to himself, _Get killed by vengeful ghosts way too much into poetry. Brilliant way to die._

" _Although swifter and softer are easy to find_."

The fog retracted so fast it made a small _pop_ and Draco found himself standing in some sort of ghost-world. The ground looked like glass and there was nothing to see but whiteness in every direction, although he caught the sight of shambling figures moving out of the corner of his eye, although they disappeared as soon as he turned to look at them.

The bleeding ghost was there with him, the blood forming a small puddle at his feet and leaving darkening streaks on his white robes.

" _I am the dying, the fading, the past_ ," the ghost gurgled, little specks of blood flying from its mouth, " _I am the proof that nothing will last_ ,"

" _I am the ground wearing down at your feet_ ," said the ghost, and offered a hand, " _And I offer a chance to once again meet_."

It didn't seem as if Draco had a choice. He reached up and grasped the ghosts' hand. The whiteness of the ghost realm swallowed him up.

* * *

Draco peered around him in astonishment. He was, for some reason, in the parlour of his home.

"Well," he said in confusion, "This is enlightening."

" _Indeed it is_."

Draco didn't jump. He knew that the ghost was behind him, because these ghosts got their kicks out of sneaking behind his back. He simply raised an eyebrow at the ghost.

The ghost pointed at the door, " _Watch._ "

The door burst open and a young child ran into a room. He was hauling an adult-size broom and had white-blond hair. Draco realised with a start that the child was _himself_ , the Christmas before he went to Hogwarts. He was in the past maybe, or a memory. He was followed by a gaggle of adults, chittering away like birds.

" _Do you remember this?_ " The ghost next to him asked.

Draco sent him a _duh_ look. How could he ever forget?

"Of course I do."

" _And what, exactly, do you remember of it?_ "

"That was the year that my Auntie Andromeda turned up with her mudblood husband and kid."

" _And your father let them in?_ "

Draco nodded, "Yeah, I don't get it either, but mum said something about family tradition and Christmas spirit and dad let them right in."

The ghost nodded thoughtfully and got hit in the face with a tank.

 _What._

Draco stumbled back through the mud. He appeared to be in hell, with smoky, barren hillsides, muddy trenches and bloodied barbwire.

"Merlin!" he yelped, turning to the dishevelled, bleeding ghost, "Where am I?"

The ghost shrugged, wringing the blood out of his robes, " _World War Two_."

Draco frowned; "Isn't that a Muggle war? Why are you showing me this?"

The ghost pointed down at a flat plain, where muggles were running about. Draco peered down at them.

"They're… playing Muggle Quidditch…" Draco shook his head in confusion, "I don't get Muggles. Aren't they meant to be fighting a war?"

" _They are. It's a Christmas truce. Nobody wants to fight on Christmas_."

"True," conceded Draco, "True."

For a moment of silence Draco watched enemies kick a ball around on a muddy field until the vision was swept away by snowflakes and music.

Draco blinked. He was in the Malfoy Manor dining room, watching his pre-Hogwarts self play with a Three-Sense Snowglobe.

He remembered this. It had been a joint gift from Greg and Vincent and he had treasured it.

Younger Draco shook the Snowglobe and the room filled with snowflakes gently drifting down to the floor and a Yule lullaby filled the air. Draco sniffed the air; he could smell pumpkin cakes and gingerbread cooking.

" _Why did you like it so much, do you think? You have at least five of them._ "

Draco shrugged, "Well it was the first time that I had met Vincent and Greg, so it sort of reminds me of them. I guess."

The ghost nodded wisely and the ghost world returned. The ghost dripping blood disappeared, leaving only a footprint on the glass floor laced in blood.

Draco stared resignedly at the bleak landscape around him, wondering what the hell was going on, and if the other ghosts were going to show up and collect him, probably behind his back.

" _I am the blind, the fumbling, the present_ ,"

It was the ghost with the blank, black eyes and the billion pinpricks. And the ghost was indeed behind him.

" _I am the choice that you'll come to repent_ ," the ghost said, drawing closer, " _I am the heart that stops when you die_."

The ghost reached out a hand and it's knuckles brushed against Draco's forehead.

" _And I offer a chance to be glad of your life._ "

* * *

There was music and laughter. Draco looked around him. Muggles were dancing and lights were flashing as if several spells were going off at once. He felt disorientated at the scene and felt a headache coming on. Why were the lights so bright, the music so loud?

He stumbled forwards as people jostled him, tripping into a girl with curly blue hair. If Draco hadn't known she was a Muggle, he would have said she was a metamorphagus.

"Ohmygod!" she squeaked, "So sorry! Like, a bit caught up in this song, y'know? Like, didn't even see you there."

 _Muggles should be banned from speaking_ , Draco resolved to himself. There was a sharp pain in his ribs; the ghost was elbowing him.

" _Apologise, you bloody idiot! Speak! Make nice!_ "

"Oh no, it was my fault. I wasn't at all aware of my surroundings." Draco glared at her, daring her to reply, and the girl seemed to take this as an opening to segue into conversation.

"Like, that's all good, I'm a bit distracted. Da's out of town like, so mum is all screaming at Tim and blah-blah-blah, y'know. I don't need all that crap in my life. I'm gonna spend my Christmas like, out of the house."

Draco just stared at her, barely comprehending that sentence.

The girl perked up and stuck out a hand, "Anyway, none of all that. I'm like, Petria Tenson."

Draco gave a start. Petria Tenson? Tenson as in Tim Tenson, that little mudblood Hufflepuff who whined and got underfoot and had to be scooted at of the way with a firm booting. Good Merlin, did nothing ever happen without coincidence?

Draco shook her hand firmly, "Draco Malfoy," he managed.

The girl nodded, "Like, nice to meet you, Drake O'Malfoy."

Petria bounced off, leaving Draco gaping behind her. He glared at the ghost, "What was the point of that?"

The ghost grinned, contorting his pinpricks into little red lines, like cuts.

" _You will see_ ," he said, and waved his hand. The room with the flashing lights and music washed out and such an awful smell hit him, Draco actually staggered back at it. He was in a simple room strewn with dirtied clothes and burnt stew spilled all over the floor. There was a woman and two children in there with him, one of which, Draco realised, was Tim. The woman was screaming something incomprehensible at the kids.

The other kid, a girl who looked to be in second year was shielding Tim, yelling back at the woman and they seemed to be locked into some sort of stalemate, until the woman ran forwards, brandishing a saucepan when Draco realised he should probably take an action of some sort.

"STOP, YOU FILTHY MUGGLE WRENCH!" he yelled, striding forward, reaching outwards to push the woman out of the way, but she dissolved underneath his fingers.

Draco whirled on the ghost, "What was that for! We can't leave Tim with her! He'll get killed!"

The ghost shook its head, _"I may not interfere. Pay close attention to the next scene. It may help you make the right choice._ "

Draco folded his arms and stared resolutely ahead, "Not watching."

" _Do not behave like a child_ ," the ghost chided. It stabbed it's finger over Draco's shoulder, " _Now watch_."

Draco stared ahead until his curiosity got the better of him and he turned around. There were two Muggle girls in a Muggle bed, reading a Muggle story.

"Yes," he said flatly, "They're Muggles. How exciting."

" _Well,_ " the ghost said, equally as flatly, " _If you cannot be taught then I will not teach you_."

The scene flickered and Draco was back in the ghostland. He twirled around before the lady ghost, the ghost in the mask, crept up on him.

"I've figured it out," Draco said, "You're the Future and the others are the Past and the Present."

The ghost just looked at him and Draco got a feeling she was rolling her eyes at him.

" _Indeed,_ " she said, " _I am the cries, the laughter, the future,_ "

" _I am the choice between hope and disaster_ ," she held out both arms as if she were about to envelop him in a hug, " _I am the shovel that digs all the graves_ ,"

Draco found he was shaking his head, "I don't want to…. please don't make me…."

" _But I offer a chance, what do you say?_ "

The masked ghost just looked at him. Draco looked back. In the distance something howled.

"Fine," he whispered, "Fine."

The ghost nodded and grasped his shoulders. With a great heave she flung him backwards.

* * *

Draco tumbled against dirt, scraping his knee. He jumped up and looked wildly around him. The ghost was nowhere to be seen. In the distance, there were screams of mirth and laughter, chortling and carolling. He appeared to be on a hillside above a forest. It was dark and cold.

The reality of it hit Draco. He was in the middle of nowhere, probably miles from home, or Hogwarts, dressed in nothing but his pyjamas. He didn't even have his wand. He was all alone.

"Oh Merlin, Draco."

Draco turned. Behind him (again) was Pansy, curled up against a stone.

"Pansy," he said in relief, and started towards her, "Pansy, you have no idea how glad I am to see you."

As he drew closer he saw that Pansy was not leaning against a stone but a grave-marker. She was crying. Why was she crying?

"Draco," she said again, "Why did you have to die?"

Draco couldn't hear her. He was transfixed by the name on the marker. His name. Oh Merlin, he was dead. He was dead.

"I'm dead," he whispered. He looked around. There were no other grievers. Were they all dead too? Was Pansy the only one left? Or did the others simply not care?

"I'm dead," he said again, running towards Pansy, only for a hand to grab a fistful of his shirt and drag him backwards.

"I don't want to be dead!" he yelled, "I DON'T WANT IT TO END LIKE THAT!"

There was a searing hotness on his back, a taste of blood on his mouth and a constant whisper. Then Draco knew nothing more.

* * *

Draco woke in a daze, in his room, in his bed. He sat up quickly, in case another ghost decided to jump out at him from behind, but the room looked as if it had not been touched at all. He also seemed to be alive, which was always a plus. He wondered if he had just been dreaming all along, but the bruises aching along his body and the tiredness weighing down his eyelids dissuaded that. He threw off his sheets and made his way down to breakfast.

At the Great Hall, everyone remaining at Hogwarts had gathered along the Hufflepuff table, even the Slytherins had claimed a corner as their own. For all you could say about the Hufflepuffs being wimps, they certainly knew how to have a good time.

Draco spotted Potter and his friends, Potter wearing yet another of those awful sweaters. He walked over to them, carrying a smooth round dome under his arm. He gave a cordial nod to Weasley and Longbottom before offering a hand to Granger.

"Truce?" he asked.

"Truce," she said, shaking it, "It _is_ Christmas after all."

Draco gave a grin at that, "That it is."

He shook the Snowglobe and placed it on the table, letting snowflakes and music fill the air behind him as he walked to join Pansy and Greg.

It was, after all, _Christmas_.

And he'd rather a couple more people at his funeral.

 **Wondering what the hell just happened? Tune in next time to see the greatest prank ever pulled by Harry and co.**

 **MERRY CHRISTMAS!**


End file.
